


hear it in the silence

by helahler



Series: let go of your fears and your ghosts [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Beefy Bucky, Bondage, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Multiple Orgasms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 16:47:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6384478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helahler/pseuds/helahler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I might even, at the end of this, give you permission to come," T'Challa says quietly, tracing a finger down the edge of the cuff and then down the thick muscle of Barnes' arm, feeling him shiver at even that light touch.</p><p>Barnes snorts, the noise turning breathy when T’Challa flicks a nail over a pinked nipple. "How very - <i>ah</i> - noble of you." </p><p>"Didn't you know?" T'Challa says, voice teasing as he leans forward, getting in close enough to press his lips to the sensitive skin behind Barnes' ear. "I am a king."</p>
            </blockquote>





	hear it in the silence

**Author's Note:**

> Set directly after [this.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6282832)
> 
> (If there was a rating higher than explicit, this fic would be it.)

The cuffs close around his wrists with a quiet metallic click: vibranium, connected by a chain to the headboard of the vibranium-infused bed frame. 

“The release mechanism is here,” T’Challa instructs carefully, guiding Barnes’ fingers to a link in the middle of the chain, larger than the rest and easy to reach. “Press it, and your bindings will come free.” 

“And if I want to stop or I’m in pain, I’ll say so; I got it,” he says, shifting slightly on the bed, impatient for T’Challa’s touch. His cock had twitched the moment he’d laid eyes on the cuffs; now it lies thick and wet at the tip on the muscled plane of his belly. 

T’Challa frowns. “And if your mouth is full?” 

Barnes cocks his head, considering. His eyes drop to T’Challa’s cock, already half-hard at the sight of Barnes like this. He licks his lips. “I’ll tap on the headboard,” he says finally, demonstrating: the sound of his metal knuckles meeting the headboard is loud and clear. 

"Good,” T’Challa nods. “That is good.” He sits back, admiring the view, dragging his gaze in a long slow stroke up Barnes’ body. “I might even, at the end of this, give you permission to come," he says quietly, tracing a finger down the edge of the cuff and then down the thick muscle of Barnes' arm, feeling him shiver at even that light touch.

Barnes snorts, the noise turning breathy when T’Challa flicks a nail over a pinked nipple. "How very - _ah -_ noble of you." 

"Didn't you know?" T'Challa says, teasing as he leans forward, getting in close enough to press his lips to the sensitive skin behind Barnes' ear. "I am a king." 

Barnes tilts his head, baring his neck for T’Challa’s teeth in a clear sign: _go ahead, then; do it; claim me._ T’Challa mouths at the pale delicate skin there, feeling the pulse flutter beneath his tongue. He bites, gently. Even that slight press of teeth on skin makes Barnes moan. He arches his back, trying to push into the touch; desperate to be marked up, even if the bruises never stay for long.

T’Challa pulls back enough to brush their mouths together. “Not yet,” he breathes against Barnes’ lips, the meaning clear: _you must earn it._

Barnes nods, reaching back and wrapping his fingers around the top of the headboard to brace himself. He bites at his lip, face flushing pink, his eyes dark with want. He opens his mouth.

“Good,” T’Challa says. He moves up the bed, settling his knees on either side of Barnes’ waist, his hands going to the headboard. Barnes leans in to nose at the solid muscle of T’Challa’s thigh, his heavy balls, the scratch of hair leading down to his cock; just breathing him in, holding himself back from taking what he wants. Eventually he tips his head back, mouth red and wet and inviting, and so, so soft when T’Challa finally takes himself in hand and gently guides his cock between Barnes’ lips. Barnes remains completely still, his tongue flickering over the tip, laving at the bead of pre-come spilling over and sucking softly over the head of T’Challa’s cock, easing more of it into his mouth, over his tongue. 

When he feels Barnes’ throat close over the very tip T’Challa pulls back, slightly, moving one of his hands to brush a thumb over Barnes’ knuckles on the headboard. There’s a flash of cold in response, as cool metal kisses warm skin: Barnes has interlaced their fingers. 

T’Challa pulls back and thrusts back into Barnes’ mouth in one smooth continuous motion; at this angle Barnes can take him deep, down into his throat, the tight clench of it at the peak of each thrust drawing out a steady stream of pre-come to slick the way. Barnes is good at this, knows how to wield his tongue and angle his head and vary the pressure of his mouth in a three-pronged assault designed to tease out a long, slow orgasm like a tide rolling into shore; but Barnes is hungry for it, too; mouthing wetly at the tip of T’Challa’s cock when he pulls back and rests it on Barnes’ full lower lip; ducking down to drag a hot stripe up the seam of T’Challa’s balls. 

A swift glance back makes it clear that Barnes is enjoying this almost as much, his cock thick and wet and ready to come, after being taken to the edge time and time again. T’Challa is close, too, can feel his balls beginning to draw tighter at each new touch of Barnes’ mouth, as Barnes parts his lips and eases him inside again, his tongue curling over the tip before he swallows him down. 

When he’s right at the very brink T’Challa taps once on Barnes’ knuckles, their pre-arranged signal, his other hand closing over his cock and beginning to pump. Barnes nods in response, drawing back and sticking his tongue out, his intense gaze unblinking as T’Challa begins to come, spurting hot and wet over Barnes’ tongue, his jaw, his chest, T’Challa’s movements growing uncoordinated as the pleasure washes over him, the ache of it sparking brighter when Barnes leans in and closes his mouth over the very tip of his softening cock, prolonging his orgasm. 

Finally, he slumps forward against the wall. Barnes gives a final gentle suck and lets his cock slip free, panting heavily. T’Challa can feel him shuddering beneath him; Barnes is right on the edge, the knuckles of his hand on the headboard white with tension. He’s a mess, come dripping from the corner of his mouth, over his chin, across his chest. T’Challa settles his weight over Barnes’ hips, rubbing a thumb over Barnes’ nipple, smearing the come there. Barnes whines, shaking with the effort of staying still; still holding himself back, taking only what he’s been given. 

“I think you deserve a reward,” T’Challa murmurs softly. He leans in, presses his lips to the swell of Barnes’ pec before gently closing his mouth over Barnes’ nipple, flicking his tongue over it and biting softly when Barnes groans in response. “I think you deserve to come,” he continues, his lips brushing over Barnes’ skin with every word. “Do you want to, Barnes? Do you want to come?” 

Barnes bites at his lip, flushed all over. He nods, frantically, each breath shuddering out of him. 

“Say it,” T’Challa commands quietly.

Barnes groans at the press of teeth to his nipple, forcing himself not to lean into it. “I want it - _ah_ \- please, I want it, I want you,” he manages to choke out, desperate, his voice hoarse. 

“Then come for me,” T’Challa orders, and that’s all it takes; Barnes shakes all over, his hips twitching wildly as he comes, gasping with it, nearly sobbing when T’Challa rubs fiercely at one nipple and closes his mouth over the other, relenting only when Barnes finally stills and collapses back, his chest heaving. T’Challa rubs a hand down his side, soothing, waiting for him to come down from it. It takes a while for Barnes’ pulse to even out again; when it eventually does he props himself up, mouth quirking into a smile.

“Good?” 

T’Challa tilts his head, considering. “Passable, I would say.” 

Barnes licks at his lips and flashes a sharp-toothed grin. “Sure,” he says agreeably. “Tips for improvement?” 

“Hm,” T’Challa muses, rubbing at his chin as if deep in thought. “You have a saying for it, I think.”

“Oh, yeah?” Barnes looks interested now. 

“Practice makes perfect,” T’Challa says seriously. 

Barnes snorts a laugh. The come on his face and chest is drying, now. T’Challa reaches over to the bedside table, comes back with a damp cloth to wipe it away, brushing it over Barnes’ jaw, his neck, down his chest, listening to Barnes’ soft gasps when the cloth scrapes over his sensitive nipples. By the time he’s done Barnes is clean again, and beginning to flush once more. 

“You going to untie me?” he asks, nodding towards the cuffs. 

“Do you want me to?” T’Challa responds. 

Barnes bites at his lip. “I could go again.”

“Good,” T’Challa says. “I have plans.” He brushes a hand up the seam of Barnes’ shoulder, where the scarring is worst, then follows the path of his hand with his lips. “Turn over for me.” 

He shifts his weight enough for Barnes to turn and lie on his front, his face pressed into the pillows, his cuffed hands sliding down from the headboard to rest above his head. Carefully T'Challa drapes himself over Barnes, his hands curling up underneath Barnes' shoulders, lifting him up enough to nuzzle at his ear, biting a little at Barnes' quiet gasp. 

It feels nice, being pressed up close like this, skin to skin, barely moving. Barnes shifts minutely beneath him, enough to get T'Challa's cock sliding up against the cleft of his ass, like a demonstration of what's to come, of what he wants the most; even now, after all these months, Barnes is still greedy for it, still wants it just as much as he did that very first night. 

The memory of it - of how Barnes had worked himself shamelessly on T'Challa's cock, eyes wild as he came undone again and again - sends a sharp bolt of heat zinging up T'Challa's spine. He tips Barnes' head, marking up his neck, the juncture of his shoulder, mouthing a trail of hot sucking kisses down Barnes' spine. 

His hands go to Barnes' solid waist, coaxing him up on to his knees as he slides down Barnes, leaving a line of kisses in his wake. Finally he pulls back, settling between Barnes' thighs and admiring the view: all that powerful muscle lying vulnerable, submitting like this, desperate for his touch. 

He leans in, bites gently at a pale thigh, marking the skin, leaving a line of bruises across the expanse of warm smooth skin. After a few more minutes of teasing T'Challa finally relents, reaching between Barnes' legs and giving his cock a long slow stroke as he leans in and pressed a soft kiss right over Barnes' hole. 

Barnes makes a breathy, punched-out noise, the same that he always does when T'Challa touches him like this: part shock, to feel T'Challa's mouth there, and part excitement at how good it feels; his cock swells in T'Challa's hand, hardening further as T'Challa mouths at him, tongue flickering out to lave softly over the sensitive skin of his hole, before slowly dipping inside.

Barnes tastes of clean warm skin, faintly infused with the heady scent of the oils they'd used in the baths, almost as intoxicating as the feel of Barnes shuddering beneath his touch, holding himself back from angling T'Challa's tongue where he wants it. It usually takes longer than this for Barnes to give himself over to it, to let himself ask for what he wants, but something about this time is different, somehow; the thread of shame, of fear that Barnes associates with pleasure, that sometimes takes long minutes of touches and kisses and quiet reassurances to unpick - "It's okay, Barnes; you're okay" - has come undone, been unraveled faster than ever before. 

T'Challa rewards him by speeding up the thrust of his tongue, sliding his hand down from Barnes' slick cock to cup his balls, full and tight in his grip. Barnes gives a cut-off moan, biting at his lip, the sound muffled by the pillow.

"No," T'Challa urges, pulling back enough to murmur the words against Barnes' thigh, "let me hear it." 

After that Barnes doesn't hold back, groaning at each press of T'Challa's tongue, his hips twitching back and forth between T'Challa's mouth and his hand, rhythm growing erratic as T'Challa edges him closer to coming. By the time T'Challa drags a finger up behind his balls, knuckling hard at the delicate skin there, pressing at his prostate from the outside, Barnes is nearly sobbing with it, the chain on his cuffs rattling loudly as he grips tightly at the headboard and begins to shove back, fucking himself on T'Challa's tongue. 

T'Challa keeps his eyes open, trained on the flex of sweat-slick muscle on Barnes' back as he shifts his weight back and forth. After a few more minutes his body goes taut, his spine arching, moaning as T'Challa brings his other hand around to fist Barnes' cock, giving him something to thrust into. He pulls back, licking wet and slow over Barnes' hole and feeling it flutter under his tongue as Barnes' noises turn frantic and he comes, spilling hot and wet over T'Challa's fist, trembling with it. T'Challa strokes him through it, gentling the pace of his hand until Barnes is almost soft, milking out the last few drops of come. 

When Barnes finally stops shaking, T'Challa lets him go. He slides up the bed to rest by Barnes' side and gently runs a soothing hand up and down his heaving back and the seam where skin meets metal. After a few moments Barnes slumps over onto his side, nudging back until T'Challa curls an arm around his waist and pulls them both close up against each other, chest to back. 

There's a soft click as the cuffs come undone, and then the touch of metal sliding over T'Challa's hand where it's pressed flat over Barnes' muscled belly. 

"Want to touch you," Barnes murmurs, by way of explanation, linking their fingers together. He shifts, in a way that T’Challa might have confused for restlessness if not for the way that Barnes’ ass rubs right up against his cock, still half-hard from watching Barnes come apart and rapidly gaining interest. Barnes spreads his legs a little, angling just right for T’Challa’s cock to slip between his thighs. From there it’s all slick warm skin sliding up against each other, Barnes reaching around with his metal arm to get a hand on the back of T’Challa’s thigh, urging him on and rolling his hips until the friction is almost agonisingly good, T’Challa’s hand winding down to palm at the wet tip of his cock as it cleaves between Barnes’ thighs, brushing at his balls at the end of each thrust until they’re full and tight and ready to come again. 

Soon it’s almost too much, and Barnes is suddenly shoving away from him, reaching over to scrabble for the lube in the bedside table and coming back, flushed and triumphant, pushing T’Challa down onto his back and letting him watch as he opens himself up. There’s nothing slow about it, no lingering tease this time; his eyes, when he meets T’Challa’s gaze, are dark and focused. Between one moment and the next he shifts his weight, settling his thighs on either side of T’Challa’s waist and giving T’Challa’s cock a long, lingering stroke, slicking it up and then finally, finally, finally, sinking down and easing it inside. 

When he’s taken all of it and rests fully in T’Challa’s lap, there’s a moment where they both still, just breathing against each other. T’Challa feels Barnes’ mouth curve into a smile against his shoulder, feels the trail of hair over skin as Barnes tilts his head, baring his neck just as he had before: _claim me._

 _I can do that,_ T’Challa thinks.

In an instant he flips their positions, getting his hands on Barnes’ wrists and pinning them above his head as he draws back and slams back in, relentless, not holding back: he knows that Barnes wants it like this, can take it like this. Barnes wraps a leg around T’Challa’s waist, all that thick muscle shuddering as he rolls their hips together, angling T’Challa’s cock right where he wants it, greedy for it and gasping when T’Challa ducks his head and mouths at the pale curve of Barnes’ neck, biting at it, bruising it up and then shifting the angle of Barnes’ pinned hands until his chest is pushed out far enough for T’Challa to tongue at a pinked nipple, scraping his teeth over it and sucking it softly into his mouth. 

Barnes whines, pressing into the touch, slinging his other leg over T’Challa’s waist until they’re pressed up close together, the muscle of T’Challa’s abdomen sliding wetly over Barnes’ cock as it drools precome between them, slicking the way as T’Challa continues to thrust, Barnes tight and hot around him, drawing him in, coaxing him closer and closer to the edge. It starts low in his spine, the heat of it rippling slowly up his vertebrae, his chest, his arms, down to the tips of his toes, to all the places where he and Barnes are touching, are joined. He slides his hands up to press his palms up against Barnes’ and links their fingers together, looking up just in time to see the look on Barnes’ face as he shudders all over and comes untouched between them, and it’s that expression - of such complete and total _love_ \- that tips T’Challa over the edge, thrusting forward a final time and spilling deep inside Barnes with a groan.

He slumps forward, panting into Barnes’ shoulder. The metal of Barnes’ arm feels blissful as it curves over his back, cool and soothing against flushed skin. Barnes rolls them, carefully, to rest on their sides, still pressed up close against each other, exhaustion suddenly rolling over them in waves. 

They should clean up, should get out of the wet spot, should change the sheets; but it feels good to lie here like this, Barnes’ thumb rubbing cool circles over the broad expanse of T’Challa’s back, T’Challa’s breath puffing warmly against Barnes’ neck, his face buried in Barnes’ hair. After a few minutes T’Challa drops down into a light doze. 

Barnes sleeps too, for a while. He dreams, or thinks he dreams; mostly it’s just a confusing mess of memories filtering through, brief flashes of things that he’s heard, or seen, or done. The blankness of deep sleep is always better, uninterrupted by fragments of blood and death the way that sleeping lightly is; he gets twenty minutes of fitful rest before he’s jerking awake, trying to blink the blood from his eyes that he knows isn’t really there. 

T’Challa shifts awake, too, turning his head to press his lips to Barnes’ temple. 

“You’re alright,” T’Challa says quietly. The warmth of him is comforting, a solid weight that Barnes can anchor himself to when it feels like he’s coming apart, like he’s floating adrift on an endless sea. “You’re safe; you’re here with me.”

All of the tension drains from Barnes at once. He curls up, tucking his head under T’Challa’s chin, tangling their legs together until they’re pressed up close from head to toe, the soft warm skin all the confirmation that he needs. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs, voice soft, holding T’Challa close and being held in return. “Yeah, okay,” he says, and lets the steady rhythm of T’Challa’s pulse beneath his fingers and his warm weight beside him lull him down into quiet, peaceful sleep. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Me: sees the haters in the tag describing T'Challa/Bucky as abusive  
> Me: aggressively writes 3k of tender loving
> 
> Okay! Okay. That's it for now; I'm gonna wait until the film comes out to write more of them (she says...as she continues to write more of them). I don't know where this series came from and I don't know how I managed to write this without bursting into flame, so, uh. Hope y'all like it! 
> 
> My tumblr is [here](http://helahler.tumblr.com) if you want to yell at me about these two and SamBucky! 
> 
> Let me know what you thought; comments are really, really appreciated and always motivate me to write more! If you liked, you can reblog [here](http://helahler.tumblr.com/post/141907649584/hear-it-in-the-silence-tchallabucky-barnes)


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